


Over the Edge

by Xarixian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xarixian/pseuds/Xarixian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best thing about Patrick is his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sycophantastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycophantastic/gifts).



> Originally written for sycophantastic on LJ for her [Five Acts](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/617043.html), [here](http://sycophantastic.livejournal.com/39813.html?thread=197765#t197765), filling the prompts Light/Teasing Touch, Restraint(s) and Hand!kink.

The best thing about Patrick—no, _one_ of the best things about Patrick—is his hands. They're long and slender and beautiful, ridiculously skilled at pulling a man's watch from his wrist or his wallet from his pocket without him even noticing. Watching Patrick pickpocket or deal cards is to John what watching ballet might be to others. John could spend hours just watching Patrick's hands, and he has. He's even learning, and although he's not as good at these things as Patrick is, although he's often all thumbs, he's picked up a few things. And when he falters, he has his closed fists to fall back on. Patrick's hands may be quick, skilled and beautiful, but John's are strong, toughened from honest work and dishonest brawls.

Of course, there are other things Patrick's talented hands can do. Things that drive John close to madness. His touch is too light, too teasing, and John has never been a patient man—when he wants to get off, he wants to get off _now_ , not in two hours time when he's been brought back from the brink of orgasm so many times he could cry.

Patrick is kissing him now, mouth sucking bruises into John's collar bone, his beautiful, smooth fingers wrapped around John's cock. John is too far gone to be thinking anything other than _Oh, fuck. Yes._

Patrick already came, brought himself off half an hour ago, more to tease and frustrate John that to actually get himself off. There's nothing John can do to help himself along, not with his arms pulled up above his head, wrists cuffed to the bedposts. All he can do is plead and beg and cant his hips up into Patrick's touch. Sometime he makes demands but they never get him very far. Patrick doesn't care what John wants, has never cared what John wants. He follows his own path and John more often than not is simply dragged along, whether he likes it or not, and although he often pretends to hate it, argues with Patrick at every turn, he'd follow him right off the end of the earth.

John comes with a whimper, needy and pathetic and so fucking exhausted, and Patrick smiles, presses his fingers to John's mouth. He can taste himself on Patrick's skin, that sticky-salty warmth on his tongue as Patrick strokes his hair.

He falls asleep like that, too fucked-out to do anything but, and Patrick wipes a damp cloth over his sweat and sex-slicked skin, pulls the covers up over him and lets him sleep.


End file.
